Tipping the Scales
by whanzephruseke
Summary: A look at the events of Awakening and DA2 through the eyes of Anders and Justice. Rating is for later chapters.
1. Prologue: Actualization

Query: self, purpose

other(foreign): "My wife could never compare to you, my love."

other(discordant): "Forget about her. She will trouble us no longer. Nothing can stand in our way."

Conclusion: unsuitable

* * *

Query: self, purpose

other(foreign): "It hurts! Make it go away!"

other(concordant): "Hush, little one. Come here, and Mother will kiss it better."

Conclusion: inadequate

* * *

Query: self, purpose

other(discordant): "Take that! See how you like it!"

other(foreign)—}self: "Do you see? This is how it should have been."

Query—}other(foreign): qualification

other(foreign): "Mother is alive. She is whole."

other(discordant): "Orlesian bastards! You thought I'd let you get away with threatening my family?"

other(foreign): "Mother is safe, and the bad men get what they deserve."

other(fabrication)—}other(foreign): "Don't be afraid, dear. Your father will protect us."

other(foreign): "This is right."

Query—}other(foreign): principle, classification

other(foreign): "Justice."

_Yes._


	2. Prologue: A Brief Reprieve

The other shore had looked so much closer from the dock. True to form, Anders had seen the opportunity to evade the distracted templars and seized upon it instinctively, with no thought for the consequences.

Now that he was in the water, Anders regretted that he hadn't at least thought to strip off his robe before diving into the lake; it billowed around him, dragging at his legs and threatening to pull him under. Flailing wildly—and thinking that he must look quite the fool to the other apprentices cheering him on from the dock—he was thankfully able to extricate himself from his waterlogged clothing without too much difficulty.

With a pang of remorse, Anders released the garments and let them sink to the bottom of the lake. The robe had been a favorite of his, with a flattering cut that accentuated his shoulders and chest, and he spared a moment to mourn its loss. _Rest well, old friend. Your noble sacrifice shall not be forgotten._

Unburdened now, Anders hastened towards the far bank, delighting in the knowledge that each stroke carried him further from his prison. He continued his brisk pace once he reached dry land, endeavoring to put as much distance between himself and the templars as he could before his legs failed him. But a life spent trapped in a tower does not lend itself well to long periods of exertion, and all too soon he felt his strength flagging, until he could no longer bear the protestations of his legs and finally collapsed in a field of wildflowers.

Anders splayed out his arms and waited for his breathing to return to normal as he drank in the warm rays of the sun. A gentle breeze played over his damp body, causing his skin to prickle, and he savored the unfamiliar sensation. Each gust sent subtle ripples through the sea of flowers, stimulating them to release their mild, pleasing fragrance. He plucked one with a particularly attractive cluster of tiny blossoms, twirling the stem between his fingers as he scrutinized its form. Its crowning leaf curved gently with the weight of the blooms and tapered to a point not unlike that of a feather, the white petals peeking out from underneath like tufts of down.

A sudden burst of movement at the edge of his vision interrupted his contemplation, and Anders sighed heavily, disappointed that his little excursion had to end so soon, but was relieved to discover that the cause of the disturbance hadn't been a templar after all. A large bird, too far away for him to accurately classify, had swooped down on some unsuspecting critter, most likely a mouse, and now gripped its prize proudly in its talons as it flapped lazily back to its nest. He felt sorry for the poor furry creature, and wondered what sorts of thoughts must be running through its mousy little head. It would be terrified, of course, but did some part of it also appreciate that its current predicament was the most exciting adventure it would ever have in its short, unfulfilling life of scurrying around and nibbling at things it shouldn't? Did it thrill at the unfamiliar experience of flight, so utterly alien and exhilarating?

By the time the templars caught up to him a week later, Anders had come to the realization that surely the mouse had expired before it even left the ground, and he dismissed his earlier ruminations as a ridiculous flight of fancy. But that night, in the isolation cell, he dreamt that a great bird descended on the tower and snatched him from the templars' grasp, whisking him away into the endless skies as he laughed in triumph at their expressions of fear and awe.


	3. Chapter 1: Belonging?

DISCLAIMER: This chapter contains in-game dialogue. I cannot take credit for said in-game dialogue.

* * *

For the first time in his life, Anders had been running towards something, and it had been invigorating. The Order had been in a panic since that incident with Uldred (not to mention the Blight), and it had made them sloppy. Once he had his phylactery in hand, the one thing that still bound him to the templars no matter how many times he escaped, he could finally put an end to their games of cat and mouse, he had thought.

But then they had apprehended him again almost the moment he set foot in the city, and it had felt so natural to just fall into the old routine, to give up once again and resign himself to his fate.

Funny thing about fate …

_I must be the luckiest person in the world right now_, Anders thought as he watched Biff crash to the floor, an axe protruding from his back. _I wonder how many other people have thought that about being ambushed by darkspawn._

Then the darkspawn turned their attention to him, and Anders remembered to panic.

_How do you kill a darkspawn, again?_

Anders found himself wishing that he had paid more attention during some of Uldred's self-defense lectures, but the man was just so boring that he could never be bothered to stay awake.

_Are they the ones that regenerate if you don't burn the bodies?_

Anders had never been very good at fire spells, but that was the least of his worries at the moment.

_I hope the Wardens won't mind a few scorched walls._

The flames exploded from his hands so quickly that his fingers went numb, but at least it seemed to work: the darkspawn definitely wouldn't be getting back up after that.

Anders attempted to shake the feeling back into his fingers and turned away from the gruesome scene to find two heavily armed women blocking his escape route. Neither one looked particularly happy at the moment.

_A darkspawn raid on your keep will do that, I suppose._

At least, he hoped that was what they were irritated about, and not the three dead templars he was currently standing over.

"Er ... I didn't do it," Anders offered.

The first woman quirked an eyebrow at him, clearly awaiting further explanation. She was seemingly the leader of the two, despite her more youthful appearance.

"Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm not broken up about them dying, to be perfectly honest. Biff there made the funniest gurgle when he went down."

"Not too fond of them, huh?"

She seemed more amused than angry with him, which Anders took as a good sign.

"Oh, I know, I know. Most people enjoy being kicked in the head to be woken up each morning. Me, I'm just so picky."

That earned him a chuckle, and Anders thought that maybe things were finally starting to look up for him—just as long as he could avoid being murdered by darkspawn.

"You may call me Anders, my dear lady. I am a mage and, sadly, a wanted apostate."

"An apostate? At Vigil's Keep?" he heard the other woman say, and he peered over the first woman's shoulder to get a better look at her. Her features were certainly striking, but she held herself in that rigid, haughty way that he associated with templars.

_Can't have everything, I suppose._

"You weren't here when we arrived. I'm sure I would have remembered such a … lovely woman as yourself."

Anders wondered if she would notice the subtle mockery in his tone; if she did, she gave no sign.

"We were just stopping here on our way back to the tower. Just a short rest, they said, and now they're dead. Such a shame." He flashed his most charming smile.

"Look, we don't have time to discuss this," the first woman said, clearly eager to get back to the battle he imagined must be raging throughout the rest of the keep.

"True," Anders conceded.

Apparently it had been too much to hope that he would be allowed to slip away while everyone else was busy fighting.

"These darkspawn don't leave much time for chit-chat, do they? Well, tell you what. I'll help you and we can discuss what comes later ... later, once all these bastards are properly put down, yes?"

* * *

The woman who reminded Anders of a templar introduced herself as Mhairi. The other woman didn't bother to give her name; she was clearly accustomed to immediate recognition. That alone was enough for him to hazard a guess as to her identity, even without the Cousland arms painted on her shield.

_Fighting at the side of greatness. If only the First Enchanter could see me now._

He felt his urge to flee subside with each darkspawn they felled, giddy with the power coursing through him as he lobbed spells left and right. Namaya and his phylactery would just have to wait—there were people who needed his help. He put on his best authoritative voice and was pleasantly surprised by the calming effect it seemed to have on the frightened civilians they encountered.

It felt good to let loose, to take out his anger on something that deserved it, to use his magic and be praised for it instead of punished.

_Actually being appreciated for the things I can do? I could get used to this_, Anders thought as he healed the two women's injuries, buoyed by their expressions of relief and gratitude. He was beginning to think that perhaps he had written Mhairi off too quickly; she seemed happy enough to throw herself between him and the monsters intent on sticking him with pointy objects.

The dwarf they picked up on their way through the keep did not make quite as good company, unfortunately. The smell of cheap alcohol permeating the air around him made Anders gag, but their leader seemed fond of him for whatever reason. At least Oghren had some use: he could carve through darkspawn like nobody's business. His addition to the group made their progress through the keep much smoother.

"So, Commander, not that I'm complaining about being able to bust a few heads here, but why is your keep infested with darkspawn? I thought all Wardens had that darkspawn-sensing thing," Oghren said casually as he beheaded a genlock.

"We do. The fact that this ambush occurred at all is indeed troubling. I have never heard of such organization among darkspawn."

The dying recruit they encountered a few rooms later was able to offer some insight on the topic, but it was little consolation.

* * *

"I know that I don't exactly qualify as an expert on the subject, but I'm pretty sure darkspawn don't talk," Anders remarked as they climbed the steps up to the battlements.

"Rowland was an honorable man. If he says he witnessed a darkspawn talking, then it must be so," Mhairi said defensively.

"What would they possibly have to talk about? I can't imagine that the darkspawn have much desire to discuss the weather or the latest in Orlesian fashion."

"I heard one talk once," Oghren offered.

"Really? What did it say?"

"No, wait…. Never mind. Was thinkin' of my ex-wife. 'S easy to get 'em confused."

"I need to see this talking darkspawn for myself," the Warden-Commander interjected as they emerged from the stairwell into the rain.

She got her wish soon enough. They quickened their pace when they heard the sounds of a scuffle, catching the end of a conversation as they rounded the corner just in time to see a man tossed over the side of the battlements by a hurlock.

And then the hurlock spoke, just as Rowland had attested.

"Capture the Grey Warden. The others may be killed."

"It is talking!"

And it was horrifying. Its mouth had clearly not been designed to form words.

By the time the battle was over, Anders felt ready to collapse. He had never needed to sustain so many spells at once for such a long period, and with the last of the darkspawn felled, his adrenaline high was wearing off. Luckily, the man they had just saved from the talking darkspawn didn't look to be in need of healing.

But apparently they could not rest just yet—there were visitors at the gate.

_Please don't be more darkspawn._

* * *

Although Anders was relieved at first to note that the new arrivals were not, in fact, more darkspawn, his heart sank when he recognized the scowling figure accompanying the man in the shiny gold armor.

_Of course. It just had to be her._

He'd had his fun, gotten to play at being a Respectable Person, even, but now that Nanny Rylock had found him again, it was over. She would sling him over her shoulder and haul him back to the Circle like a disobedient child.

"It looks like I arrived a bit late," the man in the golden armor boomed. "Too bad. I rather miss the whole darkspawn-killing thing."

"King Alistair!" Mhairi exclaimed.

Mhairi and the Commander quickly kneeled, and for a brief moment Anders considered doing the same, until he remembered that this man had once been a templar.

_I bow to no templar._

"I'd wanted to come and give the Wardens a formal welcome. I certainly wasn't expecting this. What's the situation?"

The question was aimed at the man they'd saved up on the battlements.

"What darkspawn remain have fled, Your Majesty. The Grey Wardens who had arrived from Orlais appear to be either dead or ... missing."

_At least someone here seems to be on top of things. Good thing we rescued him._

Satisfied that the situation was being handled, Anders began mapping out possible escape routes.

His attention was drawn back to the conversation by an outburst from Oghren.

"Hey! What am I? Chopped nug livers?"

Anders couldn't pass up such a perfect opening.

"From the smell, that's not a bad guess."

"I came here to join the Grey Wardens, and from the looks of it, you could use the extra hands! Where's the giant cup? I'll gargle and spit!"

The Commander sighed and tried to hide a grin.

"You're not allowed to spit."

"Heh. That's what I always say..."

Anders choked back a laugh.

_Well, at least he's colorful._

"I ... suppose all are welcome, in this dire time."

Anders almost felt sorry for Mhairi. The prospect of smelling Oghren's booze breath on a daily basis was not particularly appealing.

Anders saw the opportunity to break away from the group and took it.

"Joining the Wardens, hey? Well, good luck with that," he said casually, but before he could turn to leave, Rylock spoke up.

"King Alistair! Your Majesty, beware! This man is a dangerous criminal!"

"Oh, the dwarf is a bit of an arse, but I wouldn't go that—"

Anders sighed dejectedly.

_So much for my cunning plan._

"She means me."

"This is an apostate who we were in the process of bringing back to the Circle to face justice!"

Anders chafed at the force of her assertion.

_Justice for what? Wanting a normal life, to be treated like a human being?_ "Oh, please. The things you people know about justice would fit into a thimble. I'll just escape again, anyhow." _Why can't you just let me go? You'd never need to worry about me running away ever again._

"Never! I will see you hanged for what you've done here, murderer!"

_Hanged? For what? Does she think I killed my guards?_

"Murderer? But those templars were—"

Anders fought hard to control himself. A magical outburst would only lend credence to her accusations.

"Oh, what's the use? You won't believe me, anyhow."

King Alistair studied Anders thoughtfully.

"It seems there isn't much to say. Unless ... you have something to add, Commander?"

Anders didn't dare to hope that the Commander would risk the ire of the Chantry for one lowly apostate.

_Let's just get this over with so I can—_

"I do. I hereby conscript this mage into the Grey Wardens."

_Wait, what?_

"What? Never!" Rylock protested.

"I believe the Grey Wardens still retain the Right of Conscription, no? I will allow it," the king said firmly.

_Now I feel bad for not kneeling earlier._

"If ... if your Majesty feels it is best..."

Rylock glared at Anders.

_Did that really just happen, or have the demons finally gotten to me?_

"Ha! Way to go, kid! Welcome aboard!"

Oghren pounded Anders on the back, jolting him out of his stupor.

"Me? A Grey Warden? I guess that will work..."

Anders wasn't entirely opposed to the idea.

_I do owe them now for taking Rylock down a peg._

"Congratulations, ser mage. I look forward to fighting at your side."

Mhairi seemed relieved to now that she would have a colleague other than Oghren.

The king nodded, satisfied.

"Then if you have everything under control, I will need to take my leave."

* * *

Once they were back inside, the Commander addressed them solemnly.

"Before we begin, I feel it is necessary to warn you that the Joining is not without its risks. I will not hold it against any of you if you decide to back out, but the decision must be made now."

Anders stared at her disbelievingly.

"You mean you're actually giving me a choice?" _That's new._

"Those who survive the Joining are forever changed. I do not wish to make the choice for you as it was made for me," she said softly.

Anders threw up his hands in a placating gesture.

"Don't get me wrong: I'm extremely grateful for the opportunity to tell the Circle where they can stuff their rules. I'm just new to this whole 'being allowed to make your own life choices' concept."

"You have one hour to decide. I will provide you with writing supplies if you wish to send a message to your loved ones," the Commander said, dismissing them with a solemn nod.

Anders decided to take the Commander up on her offer of writing supplies, as there were people waiting to hear from him. He nestled himself in a nook lined with bookshelves well away from the other recruits and set about penning a letter to Karl.

* * *

_I can't believe I'm going through with this._

He needed to get to Kirkwall and … _then what?_ There was a place for him here, a purpose. Besides that, he would feel guilty about abandoning the woman who had saved him from Rylock's iron grip.

_When did I become so responsible?_

No more running. The templars wouldn't be able to touch him anymore. Surely that was worth any price?

The knot in Anders's throat loosened slightly as he watched Oghren gulp down the contents of the goblet without ill effect.

The seneschal turned to him next and presented him with the goblet, speaking the words Anders didn't even know he'd wanted to hear.

"From this moment forth, Anders, you are a Grey Warden."

_Goodbye, Circle, and good riddance._

Anders took the goblet with shaking hands and peered inside.

"So we need to drink darkspawn blood? That's it?"

"That is it, yes."

_What, no demons? How quaint._

"Well, all right, but if I wake up two weeks from now on a ship bound for Rivain in nothing but my smallclothes and a tattoo on my forehead, I'm blaming you."

_If I die, I die free._


End file.
